


Meal Ticket

by snarechan



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2010-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zell and Squall are opposites in every way but one: enjoying salad dressed hotdogs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meal Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> Before embarking back to college, I finally started playing through Final Fantasy VIII, but besides that I can't think of what precisely sparked this. At the time of starting in bed and needing to jot this entire story down before sleep made me forget it, I might have had solid inspiration, but I can no longer remember what it was. I guess I should have jotted that down, too.
> 
> This was edited by Keppiehed, who has yet to fail me and is always a great source of help! What errors remain are my own and please point them out if found. Thank you.

The cafeteria was sparsely populated, the lunch crowd having trickled out at two in the afternoon and the dinner rush not due for a few hours yet. Zell had taken advantage of the short lines and excess hotdogs; the final batch needed to be sold to make room for the evening menu items.

Thanks to his smooth timing and sweet talking to the employees behind the counter – he was a regular, after all, and single-handedly kept the place in business with his meat patronage – he sported a tray piled three stacks high and five buns wide with his staple food of choice. There remained enough room to sit a single sports drink in the corner of his tray and he didn't have to concern himself with making space for condiment packets or containers – what hotdogs weren't drowning in chili, relish or onions had already been doused in a hefty amount of ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise or a combination of all three.

There was no one more organized or serious about food preparation than Zell Dincht.

He was about to make his way to the closest table and get started on eating his prized hotdogs when he spotted someone else occupying the room. The black and leather attire gave Squall away rather than blending him into the dark corner. Zell paused, noting his tense shoulders, which caused the white fur of his jacket collar to hunch up to his ears. Squall was clearly radiating his patented 'buzz off' vibes, which proved to be ineffective against Zell, because he changed his intended path and veered towards him instead.

The plastic seat gave a loud creak in protest as Zell flopped into it, and the table followed its example when his tray was placed on its surface. The latter was an example of advanced engineering to uphold its structure after putting up with countless starving Balamb Garden students; the final test being Zell's abundance of topped-off meat and bread. If an inanimate object could set a goal, surviving this last test of its resolve would be it.

"Cool meeting you here, Squall!" he greeted his old squad member, but didn't receive more than a blank stare from his teammate.

Squall picked at his puny salad, which consisted of different fancy varieties of lettuce, some kind of dressing that was three parts too healthy and nothing else discernible. Zell understood why the SeeD would pick at such a meal with his fork rather than consume it, but he wasn't sure why Squall had bothered to buy it if he couldn't stomach it.

In the extended silence they shared, Zell pondered while he ate his own meal before coming to the conclusion that maybe Squall's salary hadn't kicked in and he couldn't _afford_ the better choices provided. That's when he picked up his fifth hotdog and offered it to him. Zell would _never_ give one up normally, but this once he'd make an exception, because Squall was his friend – and friends don't let friends feed themselves like chocobos. Squall flinched when Zell overzealously offered him the hotdog.

"Go on, you can have one, too! I've got plenty," Zell said, in case his classmate needed direction.

"Not interested," he finally spoke, and took a small bite from his bowl of soggy lettuce before returning to stabbing it repeatedly.

"No? _No?_ How can anyone refuse one of these gems, huh? You're going to shrivel up without protein!"

"And you're going to die of malnutrition."

Zell laughed around the bite of food he'd taken from the hotdog he held in the hand opposite of the one he was offering to Squall, almost sending crumbs flying everywhere. It wasn't because Squall made a joke – not intentionally, the SeeD didn't have a funny bone or blood cell in his body – but due to the fact someone had to lighten the mood. Squall frowned, though, negating the desired effect, and looked prepared to get up and leave.

"Ah, come on, Dr. Kadowaki would never let that happen. She takes good care of us," Zell pointed out, and set the hotdog smack-dab in the path of Squall's utensil. He stopped short of impaling the poor thing and nudged it instead. "Though it'd be okay if I did, because I'd go out with a smile on my face and a full stomach."

His friend snorted and didn't refute the fact, but continued to ignore the offering.

"You're not allergic, are you? That'd be terrible!" Zell couldn't imagine a fate worse than being unable to enjoy his favorite food, but Squall shook his head in the negative. "Then…what? Don't tell me you're _scared_ of them. They don't bite!"

"Who would be frightened of reprocessed meat and cheap wheat buns?" Squall asked, dubious, but he finally picked up the hotdog, smothered in dressing that dripped from the one side that'd been anchored in the salad, and took a large bite out of it as if taking up a challenge.

Quistis was right, Squall really could be predictable.

He was surprised when Squall didn't protest at the additional flavoring, and curiosity got the best of him as he grabbed his eighth hotdog and dunked it in his fellow SeeD's meal.

If there was a heaven on their planet, Zell was eating it.

"This tastes _awesome!_ "

"It's…alright," Squall conceded, which was on par with Zell's own declaration, as far as meaning went. He double-dunked his hotdog into the bowl to finish off his first.

"We totally need to try this again next time," he said, scooting their two meals closer together to make the dipping process quicker. "Who would have thought that my hotdogs and your animal feed made a great combination? We're geniuses!"

"Next time?"

"Mm-hm!" Zell confirmed, already planning to tell everyone he knew about the discovery and invite them along tomorrow. Not that Squall had to know quite yet that there would be an eating party – it'd ruin the surprise.

-Fin-


End file.
